


Will Too Much Love Kill You?

by JoseyxNeko



Series: Ineffable Idiots (Bureaucracy and Husbands) [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel+Demon - Probably Explode, Comedy, Hijinks & Shenanigans, How does a punchline turn into 6000 words?, Humor, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Bureaucracy (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Just adding tags as I go along Don't mind me, M/M, No sex is written though, No spoons were hurt in the making of the fanfiction, Only selected Teens and up because of a mention of sex, Other, POV Crowley (Good Omens), Plotting, Pretty sure it rates as General Audiences, Slapstick, hand holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 14:21:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20508440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoseyxNeko/pseuds/JoseyxNeko
Summary: “Well then. Looks like we’ll need to come up with a plan.”“A plan? For what?” Crowley said, confused and apprehensive.“To see what happens when an Angel and a Demon...y'know.” He waved his hand around, as if that answered anything, “Kiss, and the like.”Crowley was stunned into silence.“Or have you got a better idea?”





	Will Too Much Love Kill You?

**Author's Note:**

> ::slams head on desk:: A 6000 word fanfiction for one punchline.
> 
> This is what happens when you get a good idea for a comic strip, but can't draw. At all.
> 
> Special thanks to my sister-in-law and mother-in-law for proofreading and giggling.
> 
> Please enjoy.
> 
> It's made me laugh, and I enjoyed writing it.

“Crowley.”

“Yes, angel?”

“You know how we’re in love?”

Crowley, who was holding a newspaper open across his lap, stopped reading.

It had been a month or so since the averted apocalypse. In that month, nearly every evening had been spent fine dining, going to concerts, and generally enjoying each other’s company. Today, they had opted to go for a late lunch.

Currently, they were sat at a table at the back of Aziraphale’s shop, enjoying a post-lunch glass of wine, and having a catch up of current events.

The newspaper crumpled a little in Crowley’s hands.

He flashed a look at Aziraphale over his sunglasses. The Angel was looking very closely at his wine glass, twisting it in his hand, looking thoughtful. He glanced over when Crowley failed to give a reply.

Crowley looked back down at his newspaper intently.

“Crowley, my dear. Pay attention. This is important.”

The Demon closed his newspaper, and made a pointed effort to look directly at his Angel.

“You know how we’re in love?” Aziraphale tried again.

It didn’t sit right with Crowley. ‘Love’ didn’t seem the word for it. ‘Unconditionally and unequivocally bonded by soul and being’? That was closer, but still didn’t hold a candle. Of course, he wasn’t going to _correct_ Aziraphale, so he settled on sarcasm.

“With each other?” He dipped his sunglasses again.

Aziraphale flustered. “What- of course! Of course _with each other_. Unless you’re secretly lusting after the postman.” He waved his hand flippantly.

Crowley considered it. “As undeniably dashing as he was, Angel, he wasn’t really my type. I like them....fluffier.” He said, giving Aziraphale’s hair a meaningful look.

Aziraphale blushed lightly, patting flat the curls on the back of his neck.

“But yes, Angel,” Crowley finally conceded, “I’m fully aware how _in love_ we are.”

It still didn’t sit right, but it would have to do.

Aziraphale smiled softly, clearly relieved that they were on the same page.

“Well,” he cleared his throat, “there’s nothing holding us back now. Anymore.”

“What do you mean, holding us back?” Crowley folded the forgotten newspaper, and placed it on the table.

“Well,” he began, “With our respective head offices leaving us alone, for the time being at least, there's no reason we can't...say...spend more time together.” He was gesturing with his hands a lot.

Crowley liked it when he gestured with his hands.

“Not that I’m complaining, and I’m not Angel, trust me, but you’ll have to be more clear. We’ve had dinner together every day for the past month. Sometimes lunch too, like today. We’ve spent more time together since the world didn’t end than we did in our first five millennia on Earth.”

“But don't you think it isn't enough?” Aziraphale argued. He must’ve been flustered; he was using double negatives.

_It wasn't_.

“Do I think it's enough...?” Crowley trailed off, waiting for clarification.

“What if,” Aziraphale started, “What if we had breakfast together too?”

_Ugh. Mornings._

“Meet for breakfast? I'm not much of an early riser Angel-”

“No, no” he interrupted. “I meant. _Breakfast_.” He emphasised the word. “That comes...after dinner.” He nodded, as if satisfied that he’d made his point.

He hadn’t. Crowley was lost.

“Angel. Please. Help me out here.”

Aziraphale huffed, and tried putting it another way.

“Maybe, and don’t feel like you have to my dear, please, but _maybe_ you could stay....for breakfast?”

He had this small pleading look on, as if trying to get Crowley to understand.

“Oh.”

_Oh._

Crowley took another moment. This had to be handled with utmost care and consideration.

“It's a possibility.” He said casually, stroking his chin, before adding “I suppose I won’t really be sleeping if we spend the night together.”

_What??_

Immediate regret. Crowley and his mouth were going to have words later.

Aziraphale blushed a violent pink, wineglass slipping from between his fingers, before magically standing upright again, liquid and all.

“Oh, uh-” he stammered.

“No, I didn't mean-”

“I suppose-”

“Maybe I'll just, uh-” Crowley rose to his feet, pointing his thumb to the door. Something caught his sleeve as he turned.

It’s Aziraphale; now standing, looking at the floor, and red from his collar to the tips of his ears.

“A-angel?” Crowley forced out, suppressing his panic.

Aziraphale steeled himself.

“I mean it Crowley,” he said quietly. He glanced at him, still flushed. “I want to spend more time with you. Not as an Angel and a Demon. I- I want to spend time with you in a more _human_ way.”

He looks at the hand holding his shirt. It's shaking ever so slightly.

Crowley swallowed.

He takes the hand from the sleeve and puts it in his, squeezing lightly.

Aziraphale's ears pick up.

Crowley _loved_ the way Aziraphale's ears pick up when he's pleasantly surprised.

“I want that too.” The words ached with longing as they left Crowley’s mouth.

They stood there holding hands. Holding hands was safe. They'd done it before; on park benches, on the bus, at the end of the world™. Nothing bad came from holding hands. ...except maybe the desire to take it further. They never had.

Aziraphale stared at their hands for a bit before looking up at Crowley's sunglasses. Relief was unbridled on his face that their friendship wasn’t ruined, and it hadn’t become awkward. He placed his free hand onto Crowley's jaw, rubbing his thumb along his cheekbone, and resting on the little serpent beneath his sideburn. Crowley let out a shuddered breath, and leaned into it.

They hadn't touched each other’s faces before. This was new. This also felt safe, and warm, and amazing. It definitely felt amazing.

Peering through his shades towards Aziraphale, a small smile started to form on his lips, and he closed his eyes with contentment. It felt good to speak openly, without worry of who was going to find out, and what the consequences would be.

He stayed like that for a moment, until he felt a movement. Aziraphale whispered something so quietly, Crowley nearly missed it.

Did he just say the word _kiss_?

His eyes shot open. Aziraphale was inches away from his face, lips slightly puckered, and making a beeline for his.

Crowley pulled back so suddenly he tripped over the chair beside him and went toppling onto the floor. His sunglasses flew across the room; an effect caused by Aziraphale's hand sliding across his face as he fell.

He sat on the floor; hands behind him propping him up, legs sprawled out, looking shocked and stunned, as Aziraphale froze in place as if stung by electricity.

Everything was so still and silent, they couldn’t be sure that Crowley hadn’t accidentally stopped time.

As genuine concern began to set in, Crowley opened his mouth to say something. Aziraphale, however, beat him to it.

“I, uh, just thought. Just-” he stuttered, took a deep breath, and then “...you let me get so close.” He sounded hurt, and disappointed. He was stood very still; hands still held out where they had been when in contact with Crowley.

“I had my eyes closed.” Crowley whispered.

“Oh, how was I supposed to know?” He looked down at Crowley, sounding annoyed. “Those blasted sunglasses-”

“You moved so fast.” Crowley whispered again.

“I moved fast? Wouldn't you say I've finally caught up?”

A memory flashed in his mind. It’s 50 years ago. He’s in the Bentley, being passed a tartan flask.

_You go too fast for me Crowley._

Oh. Is that what he'd meant?

Crowley sat on the floor, dazed. He was looking in the past, and then back at Aziraphale.

_His_ Aziraphale.

He could only stare up at him in wonderment.

Aziraphale finally unfroze. He'd been having his own thoughts.

He waved his hands, still held before him, as he spoke.

“If- If you didn't want to- don't want to, with me-” he looked away, eyes darting around, getting watery.

_Oh god, no._

Crowley was up in an instant, and grabbed both his hands in his. A safe action. He looked down at him, face laid bare, and eyes full of meaning.

“Don't say that. I want to. I want to everything with you.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.” Aziraphale half-laughed wetly.

“It’s true. Everything. With you.”

“You do?”

“I do.”

Aziraphale leaned towards him again. Crowley took a step back to increase the distance between them, whilst not letting go of his hands.

Aziraphale looked hurt, again, getting even more frustrated and teary.

“What's the problem, Crowley?! You do or you don't?”

“I do! I do, Angel, I do. I'm just-” he searched for the right word, “...concerned.”

Aziraphale looked puzzled.

“Concerned? Whatever about? _No one_ is watching us anymore. We can do what we want.” He eyed Crowley up and down, and added quietly “...who we want.”

Crowley felt his ears burn pink.

“You're killing me here, Angel.” He said desperately. He still doesn’t move, keeping a hold of Aziraphale’s hands tightly.

“Then what are you worried about? Tell me, Crowley.” Aziraphale said exasperated.

Crowley was quiet a moment, hesitant.

_Fuck it._

It rushed out of him before he could stop, “What if we explode?”

“_What_?” Aziraphale replied, dumbfounded.

“Explode, Angel. What if we explode?” He gestured with their joined hands between them, “Angel, Demon.”

“What if we expl-“ Aziraphale cut himself off as he remembered something.

Another memory.

A sobbing, mostly drunk Demon. A ghost of an Angel. A throwaway remark.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale started, “You can't be serious.”

“But I am, Angel!” Crowley snapped, regretting it instantly, and continuing more softly “It's not exactly a possession, I know, but we are an Angel and a Demon. What if a kiss between us injures us somehow? Wounds us? Kills us? Makes you _fall_? You are so precious to me Angel, and I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

“Won’t it be worth it?” Aziraphale asked hopefully, “To try?”

“I’ve already lost you once, Aziraphale. I just can’t risk losing you again.” Crowley said, unwavering in his resolve.

Aziraphale looked dumbstruck again. It really was unusual for Crowley not to give him exactly what he wanted, whether it was said out loud or not. His face showed contemplation, shortly followed by resignation. He'd been giving this some thought.

Aziraphale flexed his hands in Crowley’s, to make the hold more comfortable. No longer so desperately clung to, ethereal blood flowed through his fingers once again.

“So...you do want to kiss me?” Aziraphale asked tentatively.

“I do.”

“And hold me?”

“I do.”

“And,” Aziraphale clarifies, “..._hold_ me? Like the humans do?”

There was a beat whilst Crowley turned the words over in his head, understanding their meaning.

He made a few non-committed noises before answering, “And, uh, be held by you.” His ears burned pink again. Why did they _keep_ _doing that_?

“Oh really?” Aziraphale brightened.

“More than anything, my angel.” Crowley rubbed his thumbs over Aziraphale’s knuckles.

“Well then. Looks like we’ll need to come up with a plan.”

“A plan? For what?” Crowley said, confused and apprehensive.

“To see what happens when an Angel and a Demon...y'know.” He waved his hand around, as if that answered anything, “Kiss, and the like.”

Crowley was stunned into silence.

“Or have you got a better idea?”

\---

First of all, they came up with a list of things they wanted to do with each other, which would necessitate investigation to find out if they were safe. Aziraphale wrote them out very neatly on a notepad from his desk.

_ ** Hold Hands ** _

“We’ve already done that.” Crowley said, matter-of-factly, holding up their entwined hands as if to make his point. They had yet to let go of each other completely.

“Oh, I know. I just wanted to include it as I so love holding your hand my dear.”

Crowley didn’t think he could fall further in love that he already was. More fool him.

** _ Hug _ **

“I think being able to hold hands indicates that hugging should be safe?” Aziraphale mused, closing the space between them.

Crowley stepped back, and gave Aziraphale a sharp look.

“Spoil sport.” Aziraphale huffed, albeit fondly, and kept his distance.

** _ Indirect kiss (Swapping of saliva) _ **

Crowley made Aziraphale add the parenthesis after cringing at how mundane the term ‘indirect kiss’ sounded.

“What are we? Children?”

Aziraphale gave Crowley a look that said ‘_Seriously? We’re making lists, and you’re worried about phrasing?’_ He added them anyway.

“You know, we’ve shared wine bottles before. We shared one on that bench after the Nahpocalypse.” Crowley said thoughtfully.

“Nahpocalypse? Really?” Aziraphale sounded unconvinced at the antonym.

Crowley just shrugged, and Aziraphale let out a sigh.

“I wiped the bottle top before and after each sip I took.” He admitted.

"Pfft, that hardly makes a difference, now does it, Angel." Crowley snorted. "After the first sip, you were guaranteed to be tasting a little bit of me in each swig."

Aziraphale blushed, clearly flustered.

"_You're_ the one who thinks we'll explode. If I had my way, we'd-" he struggled to find the right metaphor, "I mean- I, I wouldn't be wiping the bottle lid at all."

Crowley loved it when his angel talked dirty.

“We’ll keep it on the list. Shouldn’t be that hard to test.”

** _ Kiss _ **

They stared at each other’s lips for a moment, before they both turned themselves away with a cough.

** _ Sex _ **

They stared at each other again.

“Aziraphale-”

“I know what you’re going to say-”

“How on_ Earth_ are we going to test _that_? We’re going to be using live subjects here. We’re just going to _watch_ an Angel and a Demon have sex?”

“Look, I know. It’s on the list because it’s what I want to do with you. Maybe it’ll become apparent that it’s a safe activity as we go, without having to” he deliberated, “_practice voyeurism_.”

“You know it’s only voyeurism if you enjoy it too, Angel-”

“Yes, alright!” Aziraphale snapped.

It was crossed off the list.

\---

Next they had to decide who to experiment on.

Crowley could think of a few options. He'd love to see Hastur suffer, especially through something like this. It was hard to think of tricking anyone into getting close enough to kiss him though. He smelled like poo, after all.

Aziraphale only had one candidate in mind. Gabriel. He was handsome in that big-smug-jock-I-want-to-punch-in-the-face kind of way, and any discomfort Aziraphale could cause him would be a good thing. Crowley enthusiastically agreed.

Crowley recalled Gabriel’s behaviour during the Nahpocalypse(™) at the airbase. It really only gave one option for who the other candidate could be.

Beelzebub.

They seemed to have had a good rapport, despite it being the end times. It shouldn't be too hard to get them to meet in person, on Earth, to play a few pranks on.

It would be best if they got them to meet in a public place. Crowded, so no one could see them spying. Maybe it’d be less suspicious too if the other party didn't want to meet them in an isolated area when who knows what could happen.

No; public was better.

They decided on how to get them to meet. They sent notes written by 'the other party' via their head offices. Since he knew him best; Aziraphale wrote one to Gabriel, with the intention of coaxing him down to Earth. Crowley wrote to Beelzebub.

Best have them meet on a Saturday. Really; the busier the better.

When it came to the meeting place, it seemed fairly obvious to Crowley where it should be.

Covent Garden.

It was one of Crowley's favourite haunts. Tempt people into spending too much money. Tempt them to pick pocket. Tempt them into needing the toilet, only having to pay the fee to get in. Truly immoral stuff.

Aziraphale chose the cafe. “The cafe with the cups with no handles,” he’d eloquently put it. He’d been appalled the first and only time he visited. “No handles indeed. It's just like drinking from a very small bowl.”

Crowley omitted his involvement in the design decision by management.

They picked a time, wrote the notes, and sent them off through the usual channels. All that was left was to wait until Saturday. They waited whilst holding hands.

\---

Saturday comes. Any moment they were together up until then was spent hand in hand. It made a few dinners a bit awkward, but they made it work.

Crowley was feeling a bit nervous as they got in the Bentley (they’d got in their respective sides of the car, and immediately held hands again. The Bentley had gotten used to changing its own gears.)

He was nervous because they were effectively summoning two of the greatest powers in Heaven and Hell to Earth, getting within earshot of them, messing with them, and hoping to get away without being smote, or worse.

He was also nervous, because of the answers they might find.

What if they couldn’t kiss? What if they couldn’t even hug?

He was stewing over these thoughts as the engine started.

_~ _♫_ ‘...You're headed for disaster_

_'Cause you never read the signs_

_Too much love will kill you - every time’ _♫ _~_

“Yes, alright!” Crowley left go of Aziraphale suddenly, and slammed his hand on the radio console, ejecting the disk out of the player.

Aziraphale jumped at the loss, and the sudden aggression towards the car. He huffed and took the disk. The label read ‘The Velvet Underground.’ Another victim to the vocals of Freddie Mercury.

“Definitely not Bepop, then.” He mused.

Crowley rolled his eyes and put his foot down.

The radio switched to BBC Radio 2, and a new song began to play.

_~ _♫ _‘Oh yeah, I'll tell you somethin'_

_I think you'll understand_

_When I say that somethin'_

_I want to hold your hand’ _♫ _~_

Crowley sighed exasperatedly, and reached for the console again, but Aziraphale pulled him back.

“Ooh, I like this one. I’ve not heard The Beatles in ages.”

“Angel? You know the Beatles?” Crowley smirked, disbelieving.

“Of course I know The Beatles, my dear. They were bigger than Jesus.” It was Aziraphale’s turn to roll his eyes.

Crowley barked out a laugh, and pushed the Bentley to 100mph.

He couldn’t wait to cause some chaos with his Angel.

\---

“Do you know, my dear,” Aziraphale started, lowering himself to the floor, “hiding like this? It reminds me of before. You know; before the whole Armageddon fiasco. Us_ sneaking around_. Oh don’t get me wrong; I don't miss the constant guilt and anxiety, but I have to admit there was a thrill to it. It made meeting up with you that bit more exciting.”

Crowley took his seat next to his Angel. Not kissing him was becoming more and more impossible.

They were ducking down behind some hedge planters. Nobody would question what they were doing; this was Covent Garden. Tourists everywhere, performers, and the like, and no one would pay them any attention as they watched Beelzebub sitting at the outdoor table of a popular London cafe.

It didn’t look very popular though. It could have been something to do with the flies settling down on the surrounding tables.

Beelzebub looked particularly irritated today, Crowley noted with silent amusement. Anything that made their day worse, made his day better.

They’d been sat there since long before the meeting time, before even Crowley and Aziraphale had arrived.[1]

Beelzebub tapped the handle of their teaspoon impatiently against the table they were sat at, when a familiar face in a silver steel suit and turtleneck appears out of nowhere, grabbing the back of the seat opposite them.

“Beelz! This is unexpected. I hadn’t thought you liked meeting in public areas such as this. It’s certainly a departure to our usual gathering place.” Gabriel rocked back on his heels and rubbed his hands together.

Already, this was a lot to unpack for Crowley.

“_Beelz??” _He mouthed at Aziraphale, who looked at him just as confused, and then back to the unlikely pair at the cafe.

Beelzebub dug the handle of the spoon into the table. “I believe the suggestion of a new place of convening was yours, Archangel _fucking_ Gabriel. You’ve kept me waiting.”

Gabriel looked around at the surrounding tables. There were flies buzzing all around them for a radius of 3 metres, a _natural _deterrent to any humans that may have wanted to get close.

“I can see you’ve been keeping yourself company. What’s that?” He pointed at a handle-less cup sat in front of them, giving much the same look he gave a plate of sushi once.

“Coffee.”[2] Beelzebub sounded bored.

“You...consume that?” He said with the same mildly disgusted look, but his interest seemed to be peaked.

Beelzebub responded by looking at Gabriel like he was stupid.

“Can...I try some?” He reached out for the cup. Before he had a chance to grasp it, Beelzebub swiped it into their hands, and licked all around the rim. They placed the cup back onto its saucer, deadpan faced, but with the slightest air of smugness in the way the flies buzzed around their head.

Gabriel hesitated for a moment, smiled, and said “Nice try.”

He picked the mug up and took a sip, placing his lips to the edge. His face scrunched up in distaste.

Whilst Crowley seemed to be having difficulty processing the exchange happening before him, Aziraphale took a notepad out of his pocket, and added a big tick next to ‘Indirect Kiss’. He also muttered something about ‘sullying the temple of ones celestial body’.

“Why were you late, Archangel Gabriel?”

“You don’t have to use my full title every time, Beelz. I was trying out something I heard the humans do. I was being ‘_Fashionably Late_’.” He looked so proud.

Beelzebub snapped their metal spoon in half as Crowley fought to stifle a laugh.

“Crowley!” They swore under their breath.

“One of yours?” Aziraphale whispered to him.

Now it was Crowley’s turn to look proud.

“What was that?” Gabriel asked Beelzebub, only half interested in their answer as he took another sip of coffee, no longer minding the taste.

“Why have you arranged this meeting, Gabriel? Our scheduled conference is not for another week.”

_Scheduled conference??_

“I didn’t arrange anything, Lord Beelzebub. I received a note from you asking me to meet you today at this place. You didn’t send it?”

“I did not. I received this note from you.” A swarm of flies landed in a pile on the table in front of them, and as they buzzed off, the note Crowley sent sat where they had been.

It simply read;

_Covent Garden. Saturday. 2pm._

For Beelzebub, less was more, noted Crowley.

Gabriel frowned at the note for a moment, before digging around his breast pocket and producing a similarly sized piece of paper. He handed it to his demonic counterpart.

Beelzebub squinted at it for a second, and then, wide eyed, it burst into flame.

Gabriel seemed completely unfazed, sipping at the coffee, which was maintaining a consistent volume in the cup as if by miracle.

Beelzebub shook as the teaspoon in their hand was ground to a fine silver dust.

“Why, Archangel Gabriel, would you believe this note to be from me? When there are flies drawn upon it in the shape of a-” they cringed, “a _valentine_.”

Crowley turned to Aziraphale sharply. “_You did what?!_”

Aziraphale’s ears turned a little pink, as he replied, the same time as Gabriel;

“I thought it was sweet.”

Aziraphale shuddered at harmonizing with his former boss, but turned back to look at the pair suddenly, his hand resting against his chest. His face softened.

“Sweet??” Beelzebub clapped the spoon dust from their hands.

“I thought you were returning my affections.” Gabriel added, a tad defensively.

_Affections._ Crowley felt an annoyance building inside him. Aziraphale, however, seemed jubilant.

“Oh, Crowley,” he whispered, “They like each other!”

“Whatever! We’re wasting time. Let’s just get on with the plan!” He hissed back, and snapped his fingers.

The chair Gabriel was stood behind slid backwards into him suddenly, so quickly, that he doubled over the table. As he caught himself, he was just inches away from Beelzebub’s unsurprised face.

_So close._

Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s arm. “Crowley, don’t.”

“This was _your_ plan, Angel.” Crowley rolled his eyes.

Beelzebub had stood up, flies dissipating from the surrounding tables. There was a faint buzz emanating from them.

“You’re late, you accuse me of affection, and then you lunge at me. If there’s nothing else, Archangel-” They made a motion to start walking away.

“Beelz! I didn’t lunge. You kicked the chair into me.”

“I did not.”

“And you didn’t send that note?”

“That has been established.” They were still marching off.

Gabriel reached out and spun them around by the arm. At the same time, there was a click, and a human stumbled into Beelzebub, knocking them full force into Gabriel’s embrace. He pushed them back to arms length; they buzzed louder, and turned to walk off again.

“You can tick off ‘hug’, Angel.” Crowley gestured to Aziraphale’s notepad, as they were following, but keeping a safe distance from, their old superiors.

“Crowley, we should stop.” Aziraphale flustered, but obligingly ticked his notebook anyway.

“Why? We’ve only got the one objective left.”

Gabriel was easily keeping up with a disgruntled Beelzebub. Crowley noted it was due to a difference in leg length.

“Beelz, neither of us sent those messages, someone is setting us up, and you’re walking right towards a church!” Gabriel called out exasperated.

Beelzebub stopped dead in their tracks.

Crowley and Aziraphale dove behind another tall plant pot.

They were in the square directly adjacent to the aforementioned church. Crowley squirmed slightly.

He was trying to think of a way to manipulate a significant height difference into a snog.

“We’ve been set up? Why?” Beelzebub questioned.

“I don’t know, but I can guess whose fault it is.” Gabriel grumbled.

Aziraphale grabbed Crowley by his arms. “Look, Crowley, I don’t think this is going to work. They like each other. I can feel it coming off them in waves. We just _can’t_ make them kiss. At the end of the day, it’s not right, and I don’t know why I even came up with it. Even if they are,” he gestured wildly, “_them._”

“So, what are you saying?” Crowley started to sound worried.

“You won’t risk me, and I won’t risk you either. We’ll just have to accept that we-” he faltered, “we won’t be able to kiss. Ever.” He looked dejected, and as though he might cry.

_Nope._

Something inside Crowley snapped. Aziraphale would later mention that he thought he’d heard it.

“Not. An. Option.” Crowley snarled, something inside him building up, rising.

“You can’t make them kiss, Crowley!”

With anguish in his eyes, he pushed Aziraphale away, and sauntered off toward God’s Messenger, and the Prince of Hell.

“Oi, cockwomble!” He shouted, jutting out his chin. Gabriel turned to face him instantly. Crowley would’ve found it hilarious, if not for what he was about to do. “Pucker up.”

Crowley grabbed Gabriel’s face, and smashed their lips together.

Aziraphale, who had chased after Crowley, and was a few feet behind him, froze.

Beelzebub, Prince of Hell, froze.

Gabriel, Messenger of God, froze, albeit with a gasp.

What an opportunity.

_If you’ve got to go; go with style_.

Crowley slipped his serpentine tongue through Gabriel’s parted lips, and, for the sake of research, reached as far down the Angel’s throat he could manage.

A good few seconds passed.

Nothing happened.

No burning. No exploding. No discorporating. Nothing.

_It was safe!_ Kissing was safe.

He retracted his tongue from the Archangel, and pulled back, feeling relieved and a little joyful.

From the sight of him, Gabriel did not share the same sentiment.

_Oh. Shit_.

Horror dawned on Crowley, and he was thrown backwards to the floor as a burst of holy light engulfed the Archangel, who seemed to have some trouble forming words.

“You- De- Demon! HOW DARE-” Enraged, his wings seemed in danger of bursting into this plane of existence, right in the middle of Covent Garden.

Something was tugging at Crowley’s arm. Aziraphale was yanking him up off the floor.

“Good job dear, you’ve, uh, proved kissing is safe. Now we’ve got to go, come on.”

There was a shift in the air. Would you look at that? The Archangel’s wings did manifest. Grand, lavender, and sparkling. For an Angel, Gabriel sure was vain. The Flash Bastard.

“I WILL SMITE YOU WHERE YOU STAND, DEMON CROWLEY.” Gabriel bellowed, and Aziraphale and Crowley both cowered, holding onto each other.

And then.

And then; _laughter_.

Well, it was more of a giggle at first. A low sinister chuckle developing into something greater.

It grew and grew, until it filled their ears. It rang light, like a bell, combined with a deep menace so terrible, it filled every soul in the vicinity with dread.

And it came from Beelzebub.

Beelzebub was doubled over, clutching their stomach, laughing until tears were streaming down their face, and they were gasping for breaths they didn’t need.

Gabriel, with his hand raised and ready to cast heavenly justice upon Crowley, turned and looked at the Demon Prince. His hand wavered and fell to his side, wings disappearing into the ether, and heavenly glow dissipating from around him. His feet returned to the cobblestoned floor, not that anyone had noticed that he’d been hovering several inches off the ground, and he walked up to Beelzebub, whose shoulders were still shaking with hysterics.

“Beelz,” he started, pleading. “Beelzebub, please.”

More laughter.

“Beelzebub,” he tried again, “I can’t, you know, _perform_, with you laughing like this.”

They continued to laugh and laugh, and suddenly there was a massive round of applause from a crowd in the market.

“How did he do that?”

“Do you think there’s a spotlight somewhere? I wonder where it’s mounted.”

“How do you think he hovered so far from the floor?”

“Oh that’s an ancient magician’s trick. I’m more curious about _those wings._”

“It could have been a projection-“

_Lovely humans_. They thought the whole thing was an elaborate, poorly scripted, street performance.

Only in Covent Garden.

Aziraphale, seizing their window of opportunity, snapped them back to his bookshop.

\---

“I’ve never been so humiliated in all my existence!” Gabriel sulked, as he sat at the same cafe as earlier, with a fresh cup of coffee in his hands.

“You appeared before a mortal woman and informed her she was with the child of God, whilst she was on the privy.” Beelzebub reminded him, sipping at their own cup. Their face was inscrutable once again, but there was an air of amusement in the buzzing around them.

“Oh come. She was more embarrassed than I was. How _did_ Hell find out about that, again?”

“The traitor Crowley failed to report back to head office. When Duke Hastur finally located him, he was virtually crippled from laughing. Nearly discorporated himself.”

“Ah, and Aziraphale told him. Right.” Gabriel sipped his coffee and shuddered, as if remembering something unpleasant. “That Demon violated the temple of my celestial body. You can’t tell _anyone_. No one can know. _No one_.”

“I won’t tell a soul.” Beelzebub promised, the very edges of their mouth twitching up slightly.

“That goes for the soulless too.”

“Killjoy.” They huffed and rolled their eyes.

“You don’t think those idiots did this to weaken my position somehow?”

Beelzebub shook their head. “The treacherous Angel revealed their intentions.”

“What? Did he say something?”

Beelzebub put on a falsetto voice, “‘_You’ve proved kissing is safe_’. We were an experimentation.”

Gabriel considered that for a moment, and scrunched up his face.

“They wanted to know if they; a Demon and an Angel, could kiss safely?” he cringed at the image in his head.

“Right.”

There was a beat.

“Well, it would’ve been preferable if they had just asked us.”

“Right.”

And Beelzebub leaned across the table, and planted a big wet one on Gabriel’s mouth.

\---

Aziraphale and Crowley materialise on the centre of the circular rug with a pop.

For a moment, they just stare at each other, breathing fast and shallow, hearts racing.

As their breathing slows, Crowley can feel something change between them.

He’s ready.

_This is it._

He leans down towards Aziraphale, who grabs him by the lapels and pulls him close.

_It’s happening._

“YOU COULD’VE BEEN _KILLED_!” Aziraphale yelled in his face.

Crowley went to stumble backwards, but Aziraphale had him in a firm grip.

Had his Angel always been _this_ strong?

“WHAT in the blazes were you thinking? What if you were right? What if you’d exploded? And with _GABRIEL_ of _all_ people-”

“Angel” Crowley squeaked. _Squeaked_. “I was thinking of you.”

“You _kissed_ Gabriel whilst thinking of me?!”

“...ok, that came out wrong. You know what I mean. It was a risk I was willing to take, if it meant I could make you happy, ‘nd kiss you.”

“But I-” Aziraphale’s grip lessened, and Crowley’s heels returned to the floor. He hadn’t even realised he was being held up. “I couldn’t chance losing you. You absolutely terrified me. I thought my world was going to end. Do you- do you have any idea how close you were to being smote today?”

“As close as I am right now?” Crowley hazarded, shying away from Aziraphale’s hands in trepidation.

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes in confusion, then he looked at his hands, balled into fist, and jumped, seemingly shocked at himself.

“Oh, no, Crowley. No, I’m not- I’m not going to smite you. You just had me so worried.”

“So you’re not going to smite me?”

“No.”

“I might still discorporate though.”

“What? How so?”

“If you don’t kiss me immediately, that is.”

“Well," the Angel's face softened, "we can’t have you discorporating now, can we?”

Aziraphale pulled him close again, and pressed their lips together.

It was the best ten seconds of Crowley's life, before a thought occured to him suddenly.

Crowley pulled back. “You don’t think he’ll come seeking vengeance, do you?”

Aziraphale smacked his lips together and considered it a moment. “I think,” he started slowly, “Gabriel will want to forget this ever happened. To enact revenge would expose the incident to the rest of Heaven, and that would so hurt his ego.”

“He’d be a laughing stock.”

“I quite agree.”

“Just like that whole Mary toilet incident.” Crowley started chuckling at the memory.

“Oh dear, you seem in danger of discorporating yourself. Allow me to help you.” Aziraphale pulled him in to kiss again, but was interrupted by a fly passing between them. He went to swat it, but Crowley grabbed him by the wrist.

“_That’s_ not a normal fly.”

“How do you know?” Aziraphale questioned.

“Has there ever been a fly in your bookshop before?”

“...not that I can recall.”

“That’s a_ fly-on-the-wall._” Crowley confirmed.

Aziraphale gave him a doubtful look.

“One of Beelzebub’s. Look, there’s more of them on your desk. What are they...?”

On the desk was a piece of paper. As they approached, the flies dissipated and vanished from the shop.

The note read:-

_‘Lest you try to experiment on us anymore:_

_Spit’s not the only thing that’s safe to share. **♡**_

_A commendation; for the laugh – BLZBub.’_

The heart was drawn out of flies.

Crowley felt like he was choking.

Aziraphale got out his notepad.

_<strike>Sex</strike> \- _ **tick**

“The Prince of Hell has a sense of humour.” He said bemusedly, taking Crowley’s hand. “Come on then, dear.”

“Wha-? Where are we going?” Crowley rasped, malfunctioning.

“The bedroom. Of course.” Aziraphale waggled his eyebrows.

Crowley’s brain rebooted in zero seconds flat, and he more of less flew up the stairs with his Angel on his heels.

\---

_BONUS BENTLEY GAG_

They were driving back to the bookshop having rescued the Bentley from under a pile of tickets from its parking spot near Covent Garden. A Queen song plays from the radio.

_~ _♫_ ‘Are you gonna take me home tonight?_

_Ah, down beside that red firelight_

_Are you gonna let it all hang out?’ _♫_ ~_

Crowley turns off the Bentley’s engine, and they alight to the bookshop.

As they near the building, they can hear music coming from the inside.

Aziraphale unlocks the doors and lets them both in.

_~ _♫_ ‘Hey I was just a skinny lad_

_Never knew no good from bad_

_But I knew life before I left my nursery, huh_

_Left alone with big fat Fanny_

_She was such a naughty nanny_

_Heap big woman, you made a bad boy out of me_

_Hey hey! ’ _♫_ ~_

"For the love of-" Crowley growled, and snapped the music off.

"I didn't even know I had this album, or that I'd left the gramophone playing when we'd left, for that matter." Aziraphale said, amused.

"You don’t. You didn’t. Our belongings are conspiring against us. Maybe it would've been better if they'd just remained BURNED-"

"Oh, come now dear. It's sweet. I do believe they 'ship' us." Aziraphale blushed.

Crowley groaned. "You show an Angel Tumblr one time-!”

“You were so proud of your contribution to the creation of that webbywotsit-”

“_Website_.”

"Those fan artists are so good at what they do."

**Author's Note:**

> I am in awe of fanartists everywhere, not just Tumblr. I can't do what they do, so I did this instead.
> 
> I really hope it made at least one person laugh.
> 
> No spoons were hurt in the making of this fanfic.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment if you enjoyed, as it fuels my creativity. Kudos are appreciated too :)
> 
> You can find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/joseyxneko).  

> 
> ** Footnotes **
> 
> 1Demons, up until just a little while ago, were notoriously late to all meetings. It had gotten so bad that meetings began being scheduled for hours before anyone would show up. It drove Crowley mad, as it completely messed up his plans for the day. Thus, he called everyone in for a meeting, showed up to it three hours late, was still the first person there, and then proceeded to convince the Demons of Hell that the guilt that people felt showing up and seeing that someone was already waiting for them made them more suggestible, and easier to tempt to sin. It was a weak excuse, and no one in Hell was convinced, but everyone was so sick of the disorganisation that they agreed on the spot. Hell ran like clockwork, Crowley got a commendation, and he was last to every meeting from then on.[return to text]
> 
> 2Crowley had taken some coffee into Hell once, to see if it would brighten everyone’s moods. Productivity went up exponentially, and the Demons developed an addiction. It was a win-win.[return to text]


End file.
